


what systems we arrange for intimacy

by bread_boy



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Baseball Player Seungmin, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Unprotected Sex, or at least implications of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bread_boy/pseuds/bread_boy
Summary: For Minho, it's always been a case of prey versus predator. Then he met Seungmin.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 15
Kudos: 172





	what systems we arrange for intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> i am back once again with another 2min fic because if i want to eat then i must learn to feed myself.
> 
> on a more serious note, this baby was born out of me wanting to try writing a more complex take on 2min's relationship. i don't want to divulge too much, but whatever they have going on here isn't healthy by any means. also, please do heed the tags! while i definitely don't condone having sex unprotected, please suspend some of that disbelief before reading this. otherwise, clicking the X button is free
> 
> lastly, the title is a line from miniature bridges, your mouth by marty mcconnell (which i highly recommend reading, because that poem was clunking around in my head while writing this)

The thing about having the window seat at the back of the class is that you tend to become invisible, which works just fine with Minho, content with drifting through his classes with the bare minimum of human interaction.

It's not that he's one of those extremely introverted people who could survive days, maybe even months, in their solitude– it's more of the fact that he doesn't need to subject himself to senseless small talks, pretending that he cares about what dramas are popular right now or gossips about who's dating who.

Minho yawns, barely making a sound as he stretches his arms over his head. There's only ten minutes left to the lecture, but he's been feeling drowsy for the better part of the hour, so he allows himself a small respite by enjoying the cool breeze that seems to call out to him from the window.

After taking a cursory scan of the room, Minho leans against the window sill, placing an elbow over it as a means of steadying himself. Being on the third floor gives him a bird's eye view of the field below, and while he's not particularly interested in sports, it never really hurt to appreciate some of the boys, sweaty and sometimes even shirtless from practice.

Friday afternoon means that it's the baseball's team time to set up for practice well into the early evening, and Minho watches the familiar ritual with general disinterest until he catches sight of a boy, lanky and taller than the rest, walking towards the field.

His interest now piqued, Minho edges closer to the window, his face just barely peeking out to feel the breeze against his cheeks. Even with his back turned towards the building, there's something about the way this boy carries himself– back straight and shoulders drawn out, steps in sync to a monotone beat that almost looks unnerving.

But what truly has Minho subconsciously bobbing his throat in a rough swallow is the way he's lugging two bats over his shoulder, one hand big enough to fit the circumference of both. Then, almost as if prompted by the sheer intensity of Minho's gaze, the boy pauses in his tracks and turns around.

_Oh._

Even all the way up from the third floor, Minho can say for certain that he's the cutest boy he's ever seen on that field. Maybe even on campus, but that's probably the sliver of arousal talking, solidifying into something heavier as he takes in the boy's round eyes and wide, pursed mouth, the general air of disapproval that comes off him in waves when his teammates finally catch up to join him.

Minho's never been one for grand master plans, preferring to lay back and throw his feet up on the metaphorical couch as he lets pure circumstance take the reins. He can count on one hand the number of times he truly felt like he made an effort to steer his life into a certain direction– that being pursuing his passion for dancing and adopting his three beloved cats.

But now, as he stares at the boy's back once more before his gaze naturally migrates to the shape of his ass against the snug fit of his pants, Minho supposes it wouldn't hurt to add a third one to the list.

*

Minho looks him up in the university website later that night, squinting against the brightness of the screen seeing as it's his only source of light besides the meager glow of his desk lamp.

He's never been more thankful for his university's blatant favoritism in their roster of student athletes until now, easily finding the updated list per sports category.

 _Kim Seungmin_ , he reads, mouthing the shape of it, lets the letters dissolve on his tongue like cotton candy. He's a freshman and a new recruit to the baseball team, which would explain why Minho's never caught sight of him before. Despite this fact, Seungmin carries himself like he's already king of the campus, or at least the field, and as annoying as that is, Minho also finds it strangely attractive.

Arousing, even.

Minho stares at the picture conveniently provided by the website, drinking in the sight of Seungmin's pretty face while chewing on his thumb nail. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen, not until one of his cats starts meowing (Doongie, judging by the distinct warble), calling out for a late night treat Minho could never deny them of.

*

Come next week, Minho learns that the baseball team has their weekly practice every Wednesday and Friday, their schedule tacked on the sports club's bulletin board that he had surreptitiously skimmed over.

From then on, it becomes a habit for Minho to slowly lean against the window, counting down the seconds until, at exactly four o'clock, Seungmin would emerge into the field, diligently setting up the equipment with his team. Minho would watch in rapt fascination, eyes already well-adjusted in the distance to catch glimpses of Seungmin's tense jaw, the veins at the back of his hands when pushing the cart full of baseballs.

Minho doesn't bother rationalizing his attraction, already committed to making first contact with Seungmin one way or another by the time he catches himself making eyes at the boy on the third week. To him, pursuing someone is as simple as stalking prey, similar to how Soonie would sometimes hide behind the bushes when Minho takes his cats out for a walk, eyes honed in on a bird, calculating and unmoving.

He's had his fair share of successes, sinking his claws into the next pretty thing with relative ease, but, thinking back on it now, Minho supposes that was all just a build up to when he finally gets to meet Seungmin a few days later, and not in the many ways he'd been daydreaming of.

It happens on a Thursday, which means spending his afternoon hanging out in the studio reserved for the dance club. Minho isn't a particularly active member, and if he were being honest, he wouldn't even be here if not for the fact joining at least one club was mandatory.

Dancing has always been a passion of his, but he prefers performing on his own terms– that is to say, with the crew he's already been part of since high school. But the club members are nice and amusing enough, keeping Minho entertained for the whole two hours until it's time to finally pack up and go.

And he does exactly that, waving an offhanded goodbye as he heads off first, blatantly ignoring their invitations to check out the new ice cream parlor just outside of campus. He's got his own agenda for the remainder of the afternoon, and that is to catch the annual sale of the pet shop he often frequents whenever he heads home.

Minho is just in the middle of internally debating whether to buy new cat toys or a litter box set (fully knowing he'll settle for both once he's there), when suddenly he bumps into what could only be a very solid, very firm back.

He grunts against the impact, but before he can even decide whether to be pissed or let it go in favor of catching that damn sale, Minho finds himself face to face with the very person that's been plaguing his thoughts for weeks now.

"Oh." he says, completely thrown for a loop as Seungmin blinks at him. It's then that Minho realizes he hadn't taken Seungmin's height into account, the back of his neck prickling upon the realization that Seungmin was significantly taller than him.

Then Seungmin opens his mouth and says, "Minho-sshi," followed by what could be an apology, but by then Minho has already fixated on the delicate quality of Seungmin's voice, the form of his mouth when he says his name.

He collects himself after a few awkward beats, tilting his head up to gaze at Seungmin's pretty, pretty face. "You know me?"

This time it's Seungmin's turn to flounder for a bit, eyes flicking away from Minho's as his cheeks turn just the slightest shade of pink. And oh, that's interesting. Very, very interesting.

"...yeah." Seungmin admits meekly. Minho watches him intensely, eyes resting on the mole by his cheek before cocking his eyebrow just so; a silent gesture for Seungmin to expound on the fact. "Hwang Hyunjin. He's my friend. That's how I know you. Um, your name, I mean."

Minho instantly recognizes the name, easily putting a face to it in his mind's eye. Hwang Hyunjin, tall blonde with the killer looks and equally killer moves.

He's had his fair share of fantasies about Hyunjin once, particularly in the first weeks he had joined the dance club, but that ultimately fizzled out when Minho found out how much of a brat he could be. Aside from the fact he already had a boyfriend who was equally as loudmouthed as him, of course.

"Ah." Minho nods, as if that would explain the way Seungmin starts shifting his weight from one foot to the other, shoulders hunching in like he's poising to dig a hole to hide himself in forever.

The predator purrs lowly at this, reverberating deep in Minho's chest. He takes a slow, careful step towards Seungmin, then–

"Hey, Seungmin!" Someone behind them calls out, enough to startle them both out of their trance. Judging from the way Seungmin suddenly straightens his posture, Minho could tell it was one of his lousy baseball teammates.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm coming, hyung!" Seungmin shouts over his shoulder. Minho bites his tongue, privately smiling at the innuendo before he arranges his face into an easy grin once Seungmin glances at him again. "Um... sorry about earlier again."

And Minho finds it cute, how Seungmin thinks that that's the end of it. Because as far as Minho is concerned, he's just barely sunk his claws into his prey.

So he waits until Seungmin's about five steps away before calling out, "Kim Seungmin," the relatively empty hall echoes his voice, stopping Seungmin right in his tracks. "you're not the only one who's got an eye for pretty faces."

The blush Minho's rewarded with for this rare display of shamelessness is enough to have him skipping all the way home (but not before buying new cat toys, a litter box set _and_ a month's supply of cat treats, just because).

*

Now that it's been established that Seungmin seems to hold a certain degree of attraction towards him, Minho decides to amp his approach. More than anything, he's just grateful to finally graduate from longingly staring at his prince charming all the way up from his ivory tower.

It had been a gradual process; first, Minho starts lingering by the field for a few minutes before heading home, making sure that Seungmin would catch glimpses of him every time. He'd stand behind the fence, patiently watching their practice progress until Seungmin steals a glance at him, equal parts intrigued and timid. Then he'd slink away, just as quietly as he had come.

Minho doesn't usually drag on the chase this much, but Seungmin is definitely an exception to the rule. The slower and deeper he sinks his claws in, the more Minho feels drawn to the boy, so much so that sometimes, he wonders who's even the prey at this point.

The question is further drilled home when, around the fifth time Minho stops by, Seungmin surprises him by jogging towards the fence during a short break, weaving his fingers through the chicken wire as he chases his breath and greets, "Hi."

Minho stands on the other side, one corner of his mouth curling upwards. "Hey."

It's been humid all day, the proof of it visible in the thin sheen of sweat that settles over Seungmin's neck and forearms like second skin. His dark bangs are stuck to his forehead, saturated by more sweat, some of it rolling down the sides of his face. Minho traces a lone drop until it settles under Seungmin's collar, eyes snapping up just as he's mumbling "...on the bleachers–"

"Hm?" Minho makes up for blatantly ogling him by smiling sweetly, all big brown eyes and fluttering eyelashes.

"You can sit on the bleachers next time. I noticed you liked watching us practice so..." Seungmin trails off, the apples of his cheeks pink. Some of his teammates are already congregating back in the field, which Seungmin takes as his cue to leave.

He draws back, Minho watching the way his fingers eventually unlatch from the wire separating them.

"Sure, I'll sit on the bleachers next time." he responds after Seungmin delays his steps for a fraction of a second. That's new– the fact that he notices such minute details about someone, considering that he's never been this interested in people before. Or at least, to this degree.

Just as Seungmin nods and starts to head off, Minho continues casually, "And I wasn't watching your team, Seungmin-ah. I was watching you."

Seungmin gazes at him, puzzled and hopeful and disbelieving all at once before he's distracted by the sound of his teammates calling for him. He fixes Minho with one last look before he jerks his head in an awkward gesture of goodbye, and by the time he's reached the middle of the field, Minho is already gone.

*

In hindsight, Minho supposes he should have seen it coming.

His legs are stretched out in front of him, resting his weight on his elbows as he leans back and watches the way Seungmin's face hardens imperceptibly. He's been doing a lot of that recently, ever since Minho took him up on his offer to sit on the bleachers, sitting pretty in the middle section like he owns the place.

There's a Pocari Sweat beside him, untouched and wet with condensation, and Seungmin looks at it like it could detonate at any moment.

"Why are you doing this?"

Minho doesn't warrant the question with any sort of reaction, blank-faced except for the telling shine in his eyes. He's always known there was something beneath the doe-eyed naivete Seungmin carried himself with, finally surfacing in the form of an impenetrable cynicism as he tightens his jaw.

He stands over Minho, harshly wiping the sweat off his brow as the sun beats down on his back. Minho resists the urge to spread his thighs, to lure Seungmin into the cage of his legs.

"Am I not allowed to buy you a drink?" is what he asks instead, the corners of his lips lifting in a soft smile. Demure. Harmless. "You look like you need it, Seungmin-ah."

"You don't have to." Seungmin snaps, his frustration palpable in the heat. Perhaps that's what brought this along, or– Minho's eyes flicker to the crowd of equally sweaty, dirty boys below, elbowing each other and murmuring under their breaths at the sight of them– that, too.

"Are you embarrassed?" His hurt sounds authentic enough to make Seungmin visibly flinch, his temper mellowing. "You're the one who told me I could sit here and watch."

Momentarily chastised, Seungmin reluctantly sits down beside him, setting a good few inches between them. He pulls at his fingers, cracking his knuckles and clenching his jaw. Finally, he draws out an exhale, the words easing out like a tangible weight, "I only went up to you that day because they dared me to."

Then, without letting Minho get a word in, without even sparing a breath, Seungmin continues, the floodgates now flung open. "Don't get me wrong– I liked it. I liked that you were watching. I liked that everyone kept wondering why the mysterious Lee Minho suddenly started showing up here. But it got distracting. _You_ got distracting."

Here, laid bare and simmering in the truth of his actions, Minho can admit that Seungmin is simply and undeniably insufferable. There's still the heat of the ever-present arousal burning low in his belly, but that's further intensified by the lick of anger threatening to blaze, to match Seungmin's own.

This realization only hardens Minho's resolve– he'll eat this boy whole, let Seungmin make a mess of him in return, tearing each other apart like two predators blinded by senseless rage, or two preys desperate to come out higher in the food chain.

"So what do you want to do about it?"

The question clearly catches Seungmin off-guard, but he doesn't let his bewilderment linger, instead studying Minho's face in the harsh daylight.

_Walk away. Pretend I don't exist. Stop looking at me like that._

Seungmin exhales, but this time, it sounds like defeat. Like giving in. "I want to get to know you more, Minho-sshi."

Minho grins, white teeth glinting in the sun.

"Then start by calling me hyung, Seungmin-ah."

*

It goes like this: Minho buys him Pocari Sweat and Seungmin buys him iced americano in exchange when they start hanging out in some hole in the wall cafe a few blocks from uni. Minho had mentioned it in passing– both the cafe and his affinity for the beverage– and it had become a thing for Seungmin to buy him one every time they went here under the guise of "study dates".

Or at least, that was the case for Minho, sipping his drink and scrolling through his phone and studying Seungmin the same way Seungmin studied his notes, frowning down on a book he's _double-highlighting_ , of all things.

But Minho isn't about to start complaining, not when he can have Seungmin all to himself like this, sweet and diligent and still hopelessly attractive in all the little things he does and is.

He takes in the downturned corners of his wide mouth, the sweep of his eyelashes over the swell of his cheeks, the way his heavy bangs fall over his eyes when he's especially engrossed in whatever lecture notes he's reviewing. 

"Shouldn't you be studying too, hyung?" Seungmin breaks his reverie with a raised eyebrow, glancing up at Minho while lightly tapping a beat with his highlighter pen.

"You have a nice voice." Minho says in lieu of responding to the question. He props his chin on his palm, a smile spreading on his face when the incessant beat on the table falters. "You sing sometimes when you're reading."

Seungmin ducks his head, embarrassed despite the pleased grin that overtakes his features. "Ah... thanks."

Then Minho prods, "Can you sing for me?"

Seungmin looks up again, eyebrows raised and a slight tilt to his head. "What– now?"

Minho responds with an eager nod, eyes never straying from Seungmin's face as his expression shifts from reluctant to considering and finally, to one of defeat. They're tucked in a corner booth anyway, so when Seungmin starts singing a song Minho vaguely recalls hearing from the radio, he knows it's for his ears only.

By the time Seungmin's voice had tapered off to a low humming, Minho has both arms on the table, his cheek pressed against it as he gazes adoringly at Seungmin.

"Beautiful," he sighs, then, lost to the want that seems to eclipse his every rational thought, adds, "I wish I could keep you for myself. My own little bluebird."

For a moment Seungmin just stares back, face carefully blank in the slanted light. Minho's heart clenches, and he finds that he likes this about him too– that Seungmin can make his fingertips and toes and every other end point sizzle with something like dread. Like anticipation.

"I'd let you." Seungmin eventually says, and the beat is back, but this time it's slow and heavy, like a foreboding. Minho realizes Seungmin is tapping a rhythm with his fingers this time, assessing Minho with that same unreadable look.

"I'd let you keep me, hyung."

And despite the piss poor air conditioning in the cafe and the layers he's wearing, Minho feels a shiver run through him, because for the first time in a long while, it feels like he's the one being cornered.

*

Minho likes Seungmin.

He likes him enough to while away his free periods in the library with the boy, pretending to care about his academics when all he can think about are his knuckles, skinned red from rigorous hours of baseball. He likes him enough to remember that band Seungmin keeps gushing on about, listening to their songs when he's alone and thinking how Seungmin could make it sound ten times better.

He likes him enough to be here, wedged between Seungmin and the wall as the rest of the dance club and few members of the baseball team create their own form of noise pollution in the karaoke place he somehow managed to drag himself to.

"Having fun?"

Minho can barely hear over the ear-splitting wail that echoes in the room, so Seungmin leans closer, mouth just a hair's breadth away from the shell of his ear, and repeats the question.

"Sure." Minho responds as Seungmin withdraws, keeping his eyes on his lips, hyper-focused like he's about to land a dart on the target board. Seungmin grins, keenly aware of the attention, and places a hand on Minho's knee, squeezing once and leaving it there.

Pop rocks of pleasure go off in Minho's stomach, the touch unexpected but definitely welcomed. He responds by pressing his thigh against Seungmin's, biting down on his bottom lip when he squeezes his knee again, harder this time.

They stay like that as the evening progresses, their axis tilted to that singular point of contact between them. Minho catches Hyunjin shooting Seungmin a loaded glance at one point, his face clearly reading _Since when did this happen?_ And Minho likes that; the fact that Seungmin hasn't divulged what this thing between them was, or that there was even a thing to begin with. It makes him feel like Seungmin's dirty little secret.

"You should sing." Minho coaxes, leaning in close to imitate the way Seungmin had whispered in his ear earlier. "Can you sing _You Were Beautiful_ for me?"

Minho watches, enraptured, as Seungmin flushes, telling even in the many strobe lights streaking across his face. "That's my favorite song, hyung."

He smiles until the artificial light catches in his eyes so they look like they're sparkling.

"I know. You told me so."

Looking back on it, perhaps this was the turning point for Seungmin. In the same way Minho had acknowledged that he was simply, irrationally, wholly attracted to him, Seungmin looked at Minho in that moment and decided, _I will eat this boy whole._

They're walking towards the bus stop now, Seungmin turning down his friend's offer to hitch a ride just so he can brush shoulders with Minho instead, breath coming out in visible puffs from the cold evening air.

"You should've gone with Donghyun. I don't mind walking alone." Minho says once they reach the bus stop, huddled closer in the shadows than they were under the streetlights. Seungmin merely shrugs, smiling wryly at him. Then, going off on a tangent, Minho continues, "You have a really great voice, Seungmin. I could listen to you sing all day. In fact, I think you sound even better than that band you like so much."

When Minho turns around Seungmin is much closer, and where he'd been expecting a sheepish grin and a polite thank you comes dark, liquid eyes and Seungmin's hand at the small of his back, reeling him in until Seungmin slots his mouth into his own.

For all the hours he'd spent drawing up this moment, Minho had never thought their first kiss would go like this, with Seungmin's slightly chapped lips and the faint taste of honey barbecue chicken spiking on his tongue before it's all Seungmin again, slick and hot and wanting. Yet he doesn't let his surprise show, doesn't make room for second guesses as he gives back just as much, hands fisting the front of Seungmin's shirt, anchoring himself to a world that's been reduced to the feeling of Seungmin licking his way into his mouth.

When they pull apart eventually, Seungmin stares at the wet shine on Minho's bottom lip and murmurs, "You should come to my practice game, hyung."

Minho blinks, dazed and horny and aching to have Seungmin's mouth on him again.

"Yeah?" he tugs at the fabric bunched in his hands, eyes sharp, craving for more. "Kiss me again and I'll consider it."

Seungmin obliges, smothering his laugh in Minho's awaiting mouth.

*

The practice game happens on a Saturday, a sizable audience already seated in the bleachers Minho usually had all to himself. It's a little daunting, having to squeeze past people to get a prime view of the game, but he eventually manages to land himself a decent seat without having to endure accidental elbows-to-the-face or spilled drinks on his lap.

Despite religiously going to Seungmin's baseball practices, Minho never grew into liking the sport, but that's mostly because Seungmin was already an interesting subject that took all of his attention. So he sits through the game, vaguely aware that the opposing team is from a neighboring university, and learns through a gossiping pair of friends behind him that the school is just as notorious for funneling too much of the school budget into their sports department.

And it shows too, evident in how the other team carry themselves with the same air that Seungmin solely brings into his own team. When it's his turn on the pitching mound, Minho can see just how tense he is, shoulders taut and jaw clenched as he rolls his neck in an attempt to loosen his muscles.

Even from afar, it's obvious that he's not in his element, his arm lacking its usual power when he executes each pitch. Minho fidgets in his seat, face growing hot as Seungmin's expression grows increasingly desperate, his mind drifting into what else Seungmin could have under his hands in that moment instead.

And he knows it's inappropriate to have these thoughts, especially when Seungmin's team eventually loses the game and Minho catches the way his face darkens before shifting into something dignified as they congratulate the other team. But etiquette has never been Minho's strong point, much less basic human decency, which is why he finds himself here, moments later, loitering outside the locker room.

"Oh, Minho-sshi." At the mention of his name, Minho turns to find Donghyun regarding him with a pinched expression. "Are you waiting for Seungmin?"

"Yeah. We were supposed to eat somewhere after." He slips the little white lie in as an afterthought, strangely adamant on justifying his presence.

Donghyun doesn't seem to think anything of it, nodding his head before adding quite sheepishly, "You might be out here a while though. He's, er, still brooding over what happened."

Minho thinks about the shadow that passed over Seungmin's face, like the sun eclipsed by the moon, everything in total, chilling darkness, so mesmerizing you couldn't look away. He thinks about Seungmin's hands, the tendrils of his veins and the ridges of his knuckles, and how they slightly trembled as he gripped the ball.

He thinks about all these things and smiles beatifically, cocking his head to the side. "That's fine. I can wait."

Another white lie, of course, but Donghyun takes it in stride, and so does the rest of the team as they slowly emerge from the changing room, barely sparing him a cursory glance. The energy and general cacophony within the area now ebbs into something quieter, something softer in the nearing dusk as Minho eventually slips his way into the locker room.

For a moment there is only silence, the liminality almost all-consuming, but then Minho's ears pick up on the faint sound of a shower knob twisting, followed by the telltale pitter-patter as water hits the tiled floor.

People have always told him that he had the reflexes of a feline, but Minho had always taken it as a jab for owning three cats. But now, standing just outside of Seungmin's shower stall, Minho idly thinks there must be some truth to it, seeing as his presence hasn't alerted Seungmin in any way.

Minho's gaze remains on the heavy shower curtain separating them as he bends over to untie his shoelaces, peeling off his socks after setting his sneakers aside. Then he unzips his jeans, going from one leg to the other before leaving it a crumpled heap on the floor, soon followed by his jacket and shirt.

Goosebumps dot his bare skin as he stands there, just as naked as Seungmin is on the other side. There is no room for hesitation now, not when he's already in the bushes, nothing but that blood-thirst to take and rip and claw bursting through every pore.

When he steps inside, Minho barely has to reach out before he's touching skin, his finger catching the knob of Seungmin's spine before he's being pressed up against the wall, his wrist caught in a crushing grip.

"What the–" Anger immediately clears from Seungmin's features as he comes face to face with Minho, eyes rounder than they've ever been as he takes in the rest of him. The next time he speaks, his voice comes out strained, like the words have mangled his throat.

"What are you doing, hyung?"

And Minho, despite his nudity, despite the absurdity of the whole thing, smiles. He's always liked that Seungmin asks questions he always has the answers for.

"Giving you your consolation prize."

At this Seungmin swallows thickly; even to a lesser-witted person, Minho's proposition is clear as day, as bare as the skin he so openly displays for Seungmin. But the thing is, Seungmin is anything but stupid, much less reckless, so Minho isn't entirely disheartened when he reluctantly pulls away. He'd been expecting this part, after all.

"We can't." Seungmin says gravelly, now looking anywhere but at Minho. Each word exchanged in the constricted space is amplified over the still flowing water behind them, yet none of it sounds like rejection so far.

"But do you want to?" Minho whispers, like a treacherous snake dangling the forbidden fruit in Seungmin's face, like temptation itself. "Because I want to. Everyday since I first saw you, I've wanted to. I've touched myself everyday thinking about you. What you'd feel like inside. What you'd feel like everywhere."

With each word that slips past his saccharine sweet lips, Seungmin's expression steadily clouds over, the hard glint in his eyes now surpassed by the widening span of his pupils. He lets out a shaky exhale through slightly parted lips, the line of his jaw tensing and working as Minho brushes against him, skin sliding over wet skin.

"And I know you do too, Seungminnie." The nickname had been perched on Minho's tongue for weeks now, just waiting to take flight. Perhaps that's what finally breaks Seungmin, or maybe it's the way Minho places a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes when he all but purrs, "Why else would you know who I was that day I bumped into you?"

And as Seungmin surges forward to kiss him hard enough to make his teeth shake, Minho does nothing but graciously surrender, turning on his underbelly like fallen prey.

"You weren't supposed to know," Seungmin murmurs, biting down on Minho's bottom lip, just enough for it to swell an angry blood-red. "you were just supposed to be a pretty stranger."

Minho laughs around the shape of Seungmin's mouth, licking his teeth when he pulls back to gaze at him. "And you think we were both going to settle for just that?"

Then he rolls his hips into Seungmin's, moaning as his cock slips against his thigh, absent of any friction from the remnants of water and soap.

" _Fuck_ , Seungmin," Minho hisses, flushed from the steam and desire and kisses that Seungmin is now pressing on the line of his jaw, down the slope of neck, over the jut of his collarbone. "Stop fucking around and just take me."

Seungmin unlatches himself from Minho to stare down at him once more, and it's back, that same unreadable expression he often wears when he's trying to decipher him.

"I don't have anything..." he starts carefully but is immediately cut off by Minho grabbing him by the wrist, using him as leverage as he turns around, slightly arching his back towards Seungmin.

"You don't need anything." Minho whispers, cheek pressed against the tiled wall as he glances over his shoulder, guiding Seungmin's hand until two of his fingers are barely circling his rim. "I told you–" he whimpers, breathy and wanton. "Everyday. Everyday, I've been thinking about you."

Minho's hand falls away as Seungmin finally, _finally_ takes control, parting Minho like a gift, his touch reverent and gentle, cursing when his finger easily slips inside.

" _Ah_ ," Minho curves himself out more as he simultaneously draws his shoulders in, forearms resting on the wall in front of him. It's been too long since he's had anyone else's fingers inside of him, and to have Seungmin, of all people, steadily fingerfucking him is so intense he feels his legs shake every now and then. "oh god, fuck– _fuck_ –"

"Hyung," Seungmin pants against his ear, his own cock pressed urgently against the back of Minho's thigh. "do you have–?"

Minho, with the nape of his neck and shell of his ears now tinted pink, violently shakes his head so it almost looks like he's convulsing. "I'm good. I don't– I don't want it. Wanna– _shit_ – wanna it feel it inside when– when you come."

It's a fantasy he's secretly harbored right from the start, finds that it's the fastest way to get him worked up as he either lay splayed out in bed or face-first into his pillow, knuckles-deep and so achingly hard he could cry.

"Hyung–" Seungmin chokes out, fingers momentarily stilling inside of him. "you can't just say that–"

Minho plants his feet firmly to the ground, both of them groaning when Seungmin's fingers slip out as a result. "I can," he seethes through his teeth, pushing his hips out until he meets Seungmin's, his cock pressed against the swell of his ass. "and you _will_."

As it turns out, Seungmin doesn't need much convincing, because in a matter of seconds he's jerking himself off and drawing Minho closer, one arm going around his waist as he guides himself into Minho with the other.

With the head barely pressing inside, Seungmin nudges Minho's ear with his nose, blowing puffs of hot air over the goosebumped flesh of his shoulder. Here, in the dawning of their intimacy, there is no predator nor prey, no gnashing teeth nor glinting eyes. Now, there is only Minho and Seungmin and the overwhelmingly primal sensation of taking each other apart, inch by hot inch that sears them both to their core.

Minho curls in on himself as Seungmin pushes all the way inside, whimpering as he feels the telling throb of it. Seungmin is gracious enough to grant him a few seconds to adjust to the feeling, but soon he's shifted to gripping Minho by the hips, his fingers sinking into the solid, compact muscle born from years of dancing.

"Come _on_ ," Minho's voice comes out ragged, bouncing off the walls and ringing in both their ears. "fuck me, Seungmin. Make it hurt, _please_ –"

And, as if a switch was flipped inside of him upon hearing those words, Seungmin digs his fingers into Minho, hard enough to bruise, to make him hiss as he pulls out then fucks back in, immediately starting a merciless pace that has Minho gritting his teeth.

Even in the drunken haze of pleasure clouding his mind, Minho is vaguely aware that the force behind Seungmin's thrusts comes not only from his own want, but also from the pent-up anger and disappointment and every other emotion that had been swirling in his gut like a toxic cocktail.

Minho's cock jumps, but he refuses to touch himself, instead focusing on both the pleasure and pain striking him again and again and again, his world now condensed into the feeling of Seungmin fucking him, using him, taking him whichever way he wanted.

"You feel so good," Seungmin mumbles, voice raw and throaty, smothering his moan against Minho's shoulder. The delicate touch of his lips on Minho's heated skin directly contrasts with the white-knuckled grip he holds him down with, his thrusts punching all sorts of noises out of Minho. "you're making me feel so good, hyung."

Minho barely feels like himself, barely even feels like a person as Seungmin starts fucking him harder, grounding him by the hips so he has no choice but to take each punishing thrust, keeping himself up by his toes as he's pushed further against the wall.

Somewhere between Seungmin nudging Minho to angle his head back and Minho readily obliging, Seungmin wraps a hand around his cock, swollen and aching for friction, their eyes locked in a gaze that's all carnal heat as Seungmin tugs and pulls and jerks him off roughly.

There's something inherently lewd about it, how Seungmin touches him like this while he's forced to stare into his eyes, so it's no surprise that, just after a few more strokes and a hard squeeze, Minho's coming, breaking eye contact as his face crumples in the dizzying, staggering, all-consuming pleasure.

Then, as if waiting for this exact cue, Seungmin fucks into him again with renewed vigor, holding him in place as he takes and takes and takes, uncaring of the way Minho starts whining and sobbing and shaking, his thighs quaking from the force of his thrusts.

 _You wanted it to hurt_ , Minho isn't sure if it's Seungmin's voice or his own subconscious at this point, but either way it has the same leering tone, mocking him as he's continuously fucked into the wall, _so take it._

It doesn't take long before Seungmin follows, tipping over the edge with a gasp that Minho echoes once he feels the hot spurts inside of him, steadily filling him and making the slide easier as Seungmin slows his movements into languid strokes, drawing out his release.

In the aftermath, everything feels delicate and paper-thin, the temporary lull interspersed with their combined breathing. Seungmin's still pressed up against Minho, slotted in places where he'd made himself fit, an indelible imprint from the inside-out.

When Seungmin eventually withdraws, Minho is only given a short reprieve before he's carefully guided under the pleasantly hot shower, eyes falling shut as Seungmin's hands, gentler, kinder this time, run all over him, leaving suds in its wake.

The next time Minho opens his eyes is upon the press of Seungmin's palm on his cheek, fingers cradling the underside of his jaw. With the shower spray now turned off, Minho can finally hear his own heartbeat again, parts of himself coming back and piecing itself together with each steady thump.

"Are you okay?" Seungmin asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He's so tender with him now. It makes Minho mad, makes him want to scream until they do things to each other that they both know won't be any good, but his face gives nothing away.

Instead, Minho will ignore Seungmin's texts and calls tonight, and before going to bed he'll block his number. Then he'll go through the motions on Monday, attending his classes and sitting at the back of the room but refusing to look out the window this time. He'll exist like a ghost, drifting through the week until he shows up on the field on Friday with a Pocari Sweat in one hand and a proposition in the other. Then Seungmin, after stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of him, will push him face-first into the dirt and fuck him under the bleachers, fingers digging into the same bruises he'd imprinted, breaking skin again and again and again, meaning it this time.

For now, Minho leans into Seungmin's touch and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading


End file.
